typical of the medieval villages
they had been in and looked for a means of escape. As they
ran, barefoot and bareheaded, they came to a junction with a wider laneway. A local on a small motorbike, more like a moped, came past them. Ledge
unhesitatingly swung the butt of the Kalashnikov at him knocking him off the
bike.
Bill picked up the bike, engine still running and turning it to go the
other way, clicked down on the gears to put it into neutral and climbed on.
Ledge climbed on, back to back with Bill, looking back from where they had
come, holding the Kalashnikov. Bill put the bike into gear and slowly at first
with the weight it was carrying but increasingly fast, took off along the road.
Their speed became much greater than was normal in these narrow lanes and
people leapt out of the way as they flew past.
As they came to a junction with a yet wider street a
pickup truck going at least as fast came after them from the left with several
men in the back, firing in their direction. People in the street dived for
cover. Ledge put the Kalashnikov to his shoulder, took careful aim and put a
burst straight at the driver.
The pickup took a violent lurch to the left and crashed into the side of
a building in the still relatively narrow street, flinging the armed men in all
directions, some crashing into the walls of the building, others sliding along
the road like rag dolls.
They reached the edge of the town and emerged onto terraced farmland and
open spaces. They had escaped. But what now? There
were bound to be more chasers and they could not outrun their pursuers on a
little motorcycle.
Ledge, still sitting looking backwards, yelled for
Bill to stop. As
he did so, he stepped off and stood in the road forcing a car that came up
behind them to halt. Pointing the rifle at the driver he motioned him out.
“NO!” cried Bill, “get him back in the car,” and all three got into the
car. “ T shelawem !”
shouted Bill to the driver as Ledge looked back over his shoulder. Nothing coming, yet. Bill pushed the bike into the ditch.
With any luck it would not be immediately spotted.
“Why are we keeping hold of this guy? Hostage?” queried Ledge.
“If we’d dumped him out in the road he would have told them what vehicle
we had car-jacked and they could hunt us down easier,” said Bill. “This way we
might keep ahead of them a little longer.”
They drove on and after a while Bill noted they were on the same stretch
of road they had come down from Sadda and suddenly caught sight of something
coming up fast behind them in the side mirror.
“Company! Coming up behind us!” he shouted. “Duck down and hope they
don’t stop us!” Bill spoke to the driver and told him not to stop unless they
shoot and to smile at them. The driver, knowing his car- jacker could speak Pashto, and probably also Arabic, realised he could not safely
betray his co-travellers. He was equally scared of both pursuers and the
pursued to do just as he was told.
Bill got down onto the floor behind the driver and squashed himself up
against the door. Ledge pushed the passenger seat as far back as it would go.
He slipped off the seat onto the floor, squeezing up into a ball and pulled the
driver’s dark coat over his head, the Kalashnikov pointing out at the driver.
The first of two pickup trucks pulled alongside and someone in its
passenger seat looked in. Quickly satisfied the car did not contain the
escapees he waved the driver on and both vehicles took off up the road at
speed. Ledge peered up over the dash after a few moments and satisfied they
were gone, reported the fact to Bill.
“They’ll be back when they find nothing up ahead. We need to do
something,” said Ledge looking to Bill for leadership.
“Agreed!” said Bill. “Let’s pull off at the next village and hide up.”
Not far along, the next village appeared and Bill positioned the car up a
street that went higher as it moved away from the river so that they could see
the
they had been in and looked for a means of escape. As they
ran, barefoot and bareheaded, they came to a junction with a wider laneway. A local on a small motorbike, more like a moped, came past them. Ledge
unhesitatingly swung the butt of the Kalashnikov at him knocking him off the
bike.
Bill picked up the bike, engine still running and turning it to go the
other way, clicked down on the gears to put it into neutral and climbed on.
Ledge climbed on, back to back with Bill, looking back from where they had
come, holding the Kalashnikov. Bill put the bike into gear and slowly at first
with the weight it was carrying but increasingly fast, took off along the road.
Their speed became much greater than was normal in these narrow lanes and
people leapt out of the way as they flew past.
As they came to a junction with a yet wider street a
pickup truck going at least as fast came after them from the left with several
men in the back, firing in their direction. People in the street dived for
cover. Ledge put the Kalashnikov to his shoulder, took careful aim and put a
burst straight at the driver.
The pickup took a violent lurch to the left and crashed into the side of
a building in the still relatively narrow street, flinging the armed men in all
directions, some crashing into the walls of the building, others sliding along
the road like rag dolls.
They reached the edge of the town and emerged onto terraced farmland and
open spaces. They had escaped. But what now? There
were bound to be more chasers and they could not outrun their pursuers on a
little motorcycle.
Ledge, still sitting looking backwards, yelled for
Bill to stop. As
he did so, he stepped off and stood in the road forcing a car that came up
behind them to halt. Pointing the rifle at the driver he motioned him out.
“NO!” cried Bill, “get him back in the car,” and all three got into the
car. “ T shelawem !”
shouted Bill to the driver as Ledge looked back over his shoulder. Nothing coming, yet. Bill pushed the bike into the ditch.
With any luck it would not be immediately spotted.
“Why are we keeping hold of this guy? Hostage?” queried Ledge.
“If we’d dumped him out in the road he would have told them what vehicle
we had car-jacked and they could hunt us down easier,” said Bill. “This way we
might keep ahead of them a little longer.”
They drove on and after a while Bill noted they were on the same stretch
of road they had come down from Sadda and suddenly caught sight of something
coming up fast behind them in the side mirror.
“Company! Coming up behind us!” he shouted. “Duck down and hope they
don’t stop us!” Bill spoke to the driver and told him not to stop unless they
shoot and to smile at them. The driver, knowing his car- jacker could speak Pashto, and probably also Arabic, realised he could not safely
betray his co-travellers. He was equally scared of both pursuers and the
pursued to do just as he was told.
Bill got down onto the floor behind the driver and squashed himself up
against the door. Ledge pushed the passenger seat as far back as it would go.
He slipped off the seat onto the floor, squeezing up into a ball and pulled the
driver’s dark coat over his head, the Kalashnikov pointing out at the driver.
The first of two pickup trucks pulled alongside and someone in its
passenger seat looked in. Quickly satisfied the car did not contain the
escapees he waved the driver on and both vehicles took off up the road at
speed. Ledge peered up over the dash after a few moments and satisfied they
were gone, reported the fact to Bill.
“They’ll be back when they find nothing up ahead. We need to do
something,” said Ledge looking to Bill for leadership.
“Agreed!” said Bill. “Let’s pull off at the next village and hide up.”
Not far along, the next village appeared and Bill positioned the car up a
street that went higher as it moved away from the river so that they could see
the
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